


Been a Long Day

by blowmeharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Protective Harry, Reality, Sick Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:29:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blowmeharry/pseuds/blowmeharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is repulsed at the thought of being around anyone when he’s hacking up last night’s dinner or fighting to stay under the covers as Harry attempts to drag him out by his feet. But even on his off days, Harry’s always the one to put him back on his feet.</p><p>Or, Louis is sick and Harry takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Been a Long Day

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write a lot of fluff but when I received this anonymous prompt I just couldn't resist. Enjoy :) 
> 
> Title from Been a Long Day by Rosi Golan.

“Throat’s a bit sore tonight,” Louis says right as Zayn tosses him a half-empty bottle of water. They’re standing to the right of the stage, exchanging the brief words before running back to center stage with the rest of the lads.

“I’ll tell Harry to go easy on you next time,” Zayn mutters back, eyebrow raised and a smirk outlined by the bright lights.

Louis laughs and shakes his head, tapping his microphone into the palm of his hand. “Very funny.”

Zayn claps him on the back. “You sure you’re alright though?”

“Yeah, just swallowed too much cock lately is all.”

He gulps down what’s left of the water, bottle crumpling under his fingers, and looks around at the crowd of ecstatic fans.

Despite the hundreds of venues the boys had played in since the start of their careers, it’s always something exciting every chance they get to perform.

There are always the butterflies coiling in Louis’ stomach and the rush of adrenaline that follows right as he’s about to do a solo, and sometimes he messes up or his voice cracks or it’s just not as perfect as it should be, but something about being up there on stage with his four best friends brings out a side in Louis that’s rarely seen anywhere else. It’s something that carries him through the shows and follows him out into their tour bus—an atmosphere he could never grow tired of.

It’s after the show, and Louis’ sitting backstage, downing another bottle of water with Harry. It’s become routine for them all, really; singing and jumping around for two and a half hours—sometimes three—does leave them exasperated: sitting and drinking until they’ve caught their breaths.

“’M really tired,” Louis admits, stretching his arms and feeling a pang of pain on his shoulders and neck. His last tattoo—a game of tic tac toe splayed on his right arm—hasn’t fully healed yet, either. “Sore, too.”

Harry drinks, lips stretched over the top of the bottle with cheeks hollowed. It’s all a lovely sight, really: jewelry dangling from his neck, black shirt—casual and loose-fitting, black skinny jeans wrapping his obscenely skinny legs—always so tight yet no bulge in sight—rolled over brown boots, and the fucking blue bandana with white stars. It’s as if he literally threw on the first clothes he found, and yet somehow he’s the most attractive man alive.

He furrows his eyebrows, lips pouting and fingers resting over his left thigh. “Well, we can’t have that. You need proper rest, love.”

“Yeah, I’ll try and sleep a bit later tonight,” Louis assures him. He hadn’t slept much the night before, and his morning was spent fighting to stay under the covers as Harry attempted to drag him out by his feet.

“Oh, you have that thing, right?”

Louis nods. “It’s not much of a party. I really only have to be there—publicity and all, y’know?”

Harry puts the empty bottle between his legs, leaning forward and resting his hands over his thighs. “You don’t have to go if you’re not feeling well. Why don’t you skip and I’ll make you soup or summat.”

It’s awfully tempting.

“I don’t think Eleanor will appreciate it if I don’t show up.”

Harry’s eyes avert to the ground. “Right, yeah.”

Louis can tell he’s upset, but this is typical. He sighs. “I love you.”

Looking up, Harry smiles, even if it’s not the half-dimply, eyebrows-raised grin Louis loves to see. “I love you. Don’t stay out too late, yeah? The soup is still a go, you know.” He gets up to move over to Louis, pulling him into his arms when he does.

Louis loves Harry’s hugs; the feeling of being enveloped in the larger body is the same feeling he gets when he visits home in the first time in months. Louis would hold him for a lifetime if he could.

“You know what? Fuck Eleanor,” Harry whispers into the shell of Louis’ ear.

Louis chuckles. “I prefer blokes. I still have to go, though.”

Harry licks his lips, predatory eyes darting down to look at Louis’. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but he only smirks. He begins to inch closer right as Louis backs away.

“You’ll get sick.”

“Good,” Harry replies as their lips brush together.

 

It really does turn out to be just as shitty as Louis had expected.

Eleanor is ten minutes late, which isn’t that big of a deal. The big deal is the interviewers, or people with cameras claiming to be of importance just to have a second alone with him, or worse, actually try to pry information out of him. Lucky for him, the questions are pretty straightforward: “How are you liking the tour so far?” “Can you tell us anything about the new album?” “What’s the story behind your new tattoo?” Not that Louis can answer anything, anyway; he can’t remember the last time he’s been able to speak freely to the public.

When Eleanor shows up, it’s picture after picture, and Louis thinks he’s suffering retinal damage. Perhaps if he hasn’t been coughing out his lungs for the past hour, he wouldn’t have even noticed the obnoxious flash—something he should be used to by now.

It’s nearing midnight, and he and Eleanor are laughing at bread.

(“Look at that bread. All white and shit,” Louis says with a laugh.

“Um, excuse me. Bread isn’t always white. Are you racist?”)

Basically Louis is very, very tired, and Eleanor is very, very nice.

Louis feels like shit at the end of the night and decides to give Eleanor a hug with no cameras around. He tries to hurry things along because truth be told, he’s hoping Harry’s kept his word.

Eleanor thanks him for a great night and tells him to get well soon. No blowjob jokes either—again, she is very nice.

As Louis’ making his way into the hotel with bodyguards around him yet surprisingly no fans in sight, he’s seriously considering ripping his throat out if that guaranteed far less pain than the sheer terror the cruel world has sedated him with.

In other words, his throat is very sore, and he needs to swallow some pills. Cuddling with Harry will also suffice.

“Harry?” Louis manages to get out, his voice raspy and muffled. He coughs, the pain worsening with every passing second. He’s standing inside their hotel room, looking at the two empty queen beds. (Louis supposes the maids find it a little strange that they only have to make one of the beds. He doesn’t quite understand why they still pay for double rooms.)

“Here, love.” Harry walks out of the bathroom with a plastic cup in his hand. He holds out his other hand to Louis, giving him two white pills. “These should help with your throat; I can get you cough drops, too.”

“Thanks,” Louis says sheepishly.

Harry tucks his thumbs in his pockets, eyebrows furrowing as he looks at his boyfriend with concern. “How did it go?”

“Okay.”

Harry nods slowly, understanding that talking isn’t one of Louis’ favourite things right now. “Feeling any better?”

Louis shakes his head.

“You’re exhausted. Your eyes are red and everything.”

Louis glances over at the beds; they look so warm and inviting. The floor looks comfortable at this point, actually.

Harry blinks, looking down as he grabs smaller hands into his own. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

Louis squints his eyes, and right as he tears himself from Harry, time is moving too fast. He finds himself piled over the toilet, all the food from the party compacted into orange bile falling out of his mouth. Not only is his throat literally killing him now, but tears are prickling at his eyes. Everything is so brutal and painful, and Louis wants to die.

Harry is sat on the floor beside him, rubbing circles onto his back. It doesn’t help at all, though; Louis feels as though he’s decomposing—slowly turning into complete waste, except unlike simpler forms of matter, he’s rendered useless.

“C’mon, Lou.” Harry presses his hand gently against his shoulder. “Please get up.”

But Louis’ hands are still gripping onto the porcelain surface. “Am I gonna die?”

“Louis.” Harry sighs.

It’s really hard to talk, but he needs to show Harry just how lousy he feels. “I’m serious, Harry. What if this is it?”

“Shh.” Harry pulls Louis into an embrace, his heavy head resting against Harry’s chest. “You need to sleep, okay? I’ve got you.” He softly caresses Louis’ scalp with his fingertips, and Louis relaxes under his touch.

“Don’t feel good,” he mumbles, then a cough. “Fuck.”

“Can you stand up?”

Louis exhales, breathing becoming a true struggle. “Yeah, I—I’ll try.” The second he’s up, he finds himself being carried into bed, larger hands the only thing keeping him lifted from the ground.

Harry tucks him into bed and adjusts his pillows. He crawls in to the space beside Louis, but Louis stops him with a disgruntled noise.

“Don’t want you to get sick.”

Surprisingly, Harry doesn’t put up a fight. “Okay.” He kisses Louis on the forehead, fingers touching the side of his face for a moment.

“Goodnight, Lou,” he says. “I love you.”

For once he’s walking over to the other bed, and Louis is almost sad to see him go. Harry looks sad, too. He’s wrapped in the sheets, facing Louis with a small smile on his face. If Louis wasn’t so drained, he might feel more upset over the distance between their beds.

And even though his throat is in far too much pain, Louis still forces out, “I love you.”

And even though Louis sounds like he’s dying, the endearment is still there.


End file.
